


Impressions

by SpiralsInTime



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: All explicit parts will be in Ch.2, Biting, Body Worship, Bottom Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Consensual Sex, Dubious Consent, Enthusiastic Consent, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Hair-pulling, Immortal Jaskier | Dandelion, Insecure Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, M/M, Non-Human Jaskier | Dandelion, Not between G and J, Recommend reading summary/notes, Resolved Sexual Tension, Rough Kissing, Rough Sex, Sexual Tension, Sidhe, Teasing, Top Jaskier | Dandelion, kind of?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-16 11:29:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29824266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpiralsInTime/pseuds/SpiralsInTime
Summary: Somewhere down Jaskier's bloodline, there was a secrete mixing of Human blood and Fair Folk, resulting in Jaskier having the magick of impressions after experiencing a major release of magick in someone else (The Law of Suprise). Thus, Jaskier can physically feel the intentions of others. Enter Geralt.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 3
Kudos: 58





	Impressions

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [proceed with what you're leading me to do](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28921566) by [silverfoxflower](https://archiveofourown.org/users/silverfoxflower/pseuds/silverfoxflower). 



> The only reason "Dubious Consent" is tagged is because Jaskier feels the sexual touches of others when people think about it, though I did not drag that part out, and is only briefly mentioned to explain the plot. There is no dubious consent between Geralt and Jaskier — I made their consent vocalized and enthusiastic. The sex scene will occur in chapter two.

The mixing of Sídhe blood with that of another race was outlawed since the Conjunction of the Spheres. Fair Folk, although loyal to their kin, were born mischievous and curious to a fault, resulting in the Forbidden Love — the laying between Sídhe and Other, that of which were typically human.

Naïve and wanderlust Sídhe fell for the fascinating, yet contradicting species that is Humans. These short-lived, emotionally-driven creatures that reproduced rapidly caught the eyes of Fair Folk. Lives so small and insignificant yet lived so boldly and loud, how could a creature born infatuated with nature simply ignore them?

However, when discovered the Humans abused the immortal's natural curiosity, manipulating them with the human concept of love; thus born, the Sídhe rule: none will lay with humankind without the result of mortality and infertility.

Centuries passed and they were deemed myth within human society, often used in the tales of romanticized ballads; erasing the slavery and abuse humans brought to all Fair Folk. Though this did not forbear meddling, interested Sídhe from the Continent completely. Consequently, their blood and the blood of human touched, mixing within generations in secret; for some, even the Human-Sídhe child would be none the wiser and if they were and became too loud, families were slaughtered off in means of cutting out the gene. 

As generations passed, the gene weakened the source of magick. Human-Sídhe children passed as human, the magick hidden deeply within unless experienced with an event of the release of Chaos, it was unreachable.

~~~

Jaskier grew up being told the long-lost tales of the Fair Folk by his Mother. Her lively storytelling filled with magical, captivating creatures that lived beyond their realm bewitched the young viscount and brought lyrics with building melody in his mind. 

He learned quickly that the Sídhe must not be spoken about in light as his Father would punish his Mother for filling his head with the myths of manipulative, demonic creatures. The late-night stories of magick and Forbidden Love was strictly between young Julian and his Mother.

After her passing, Jaskier was determined to go to Oxenfurt to become a traveling bard, singing the tales his Mother recounted to him in his younger years, the ones that led him to his purpose.

~~~

Straight out of Oxenfurt Jaskier saw the Witcher, The Butcher of Blaviken, brooding in the corner, after he was — _rather rudely, he might add_ — booed for his song and left stuffing bread in his pants. 

He simply couldn’t resist as he remembered his Mother’s tellings of people demonizing the different and unknown while he strutted over to the white-haired man. He was going to befriend The Butcher of Blaviken.

~~~

Geralt — _not The Butcher of Blaviken (ouch) —_ allowed the bard to follow him in hopes the barely-adult would get scared off by the supposed ‘Devil.’ 

The Witcher’s luck was shit and Jaskier was stubborn. 

~~~

They traveled together on and off during the years, falling into the routine of splitting up when different opportunities lead them both astray from one another, but always meeting up again later down the line.

The Witcher adjusted to the bard’s presence as he was taught to do — adapt to every known situation — until it blurred into _enjoying_ the younger man’s chatter and soft snoring. 

At some point, Geralt’s eyes started lingering on the bard’s forearms when he plucked his lute seductively in taverns; on the man’s surprisingly broad back as he strutted in front of Roach, his basically see-through chemise stuck to his slick skin; the rolls of fat on his stomach that the Witcher desperately wanted to leave marks on, teasing the flesh between his teeth. Geralt started _noticing_ Jaskier. So, he ignored it.

~~~

Geralt couldn’t deny the bard his protection when asked to come with him to the betrothal, nevermind the promise of _food, women, and wine, Geralt_. 

The bathing was unusual — yet pleasant, not that he would ever tell the bard that — only for the fact that Jaskier physically took care of him; washing him, adding gentle scents to the water, and combing the Witcher’s hair. 

He simply brushed it off as the bard not wanting him to back out last minute — he never would anyway.

Then, everything went tits up as is a Witcher’s life.

~~~

Pavetta’s scream ripped through the very atoms in the air; tables flipped, cloth flew around drastically, and people were huddled at the room’s very edge, scared.

Jaskier doubled over, clutching his chest in pain while his screams were lost in the Chaos. Tears tore down the bard’s face painfully, his breath shuttering as he forced his lungs to swallow oxygen. 

Jaskier felt numb when the Witcher spoke, “I claim the tradition as you have: The Law of Surprise.”

~~~

_Something was wrong._

Jaskier was sure of it. He paced the small room that was given to him for free in exchange for a performance but ended up paying when his performance got...interrupted. 

The bard stopped pacing and glared down at the bulge tenting his pants up.

Groaning with annoyance and discomfort, the bard scolded his body and went back to thinking about what the hell happened while he was playing. 

The entire day he felt the irritating sense of having an itch that he couldn’t scratch, which wasn’t unusual, though the feeling covering his whole body was. He brushed it aside, blaming it on the adrenaline coursing his veins as result of the betrothal.

As the Witcher left to go kill some monster in hopes to distract himself from his stupid horrible mistake, Jaskier’s feeling of an itch shifted into feeling hands on his body that wasn’t _physically_ there.

The bard missed a cord when he felt the clear feeling of a hand running between his thighs before another groped his half-hard cock, making him squirm and quickly cut off his performance to the displeasure of many. He couldn’t care about it though as his mind focused on hiding his now-obvious erection while he rushed up the stairs.

Pacing back and forth, willing his horniness away, Jaskier finally groaned aloud before letting his body fall helplessly against the inn’s creaky bed. 

_What the_ fuck _was that?_

_—felt hands, like ghosts—was I just sexually assaulted by ghosts? Is that a thing?_

_Possibly cursed?_

Jaskier’s thoughts were never-ending. He dreaded the solution that he settled on: ask Geralt about it, he specializes in curses and the like. Nevermind the embarrassment that will come fumbling through _that_ conversation. He shivered with nerves.

At least his cock calmed down.

~~~

“Geralt!” 

He stopped in the doorway, eyes narrowing at the flushed bard in front of him, nerves filling the room.

“What did you do?” He replied plainly, shutting the door behind him before taking off his gut-covered armor, his face seemingly washed already.

Jaskier gasped in mock-offense, his open hand touching his chest, “Wha—me? I didn’t _do anything._ Geralt, I swear. This time—“ the Witcher raised his eyebrow, unimpressed, at him “—I didn’t do anything.”

Geralt studied his posture and minute change in body language, deeming that he was, in fact, not lying. “Hmm,” he set down both of his swords, leaning them on the wall closest to the bed for easy access. 

“Good! You believe me.” Jaskier began pacing the room again, waving his hands animatedly as he told Geralt the odd experiences he’s had.

“You feel hands on you?” He asked suspiciously and in disbelief.

“ _Yes._ But only when I’m around other people. Quite as when I was performing earlier! I felt hands groping me, one touching my cock, I swear it.” He explained in exasperation, finally turning to look at the Witcher who now was looking at him with his head tilted, face emotionless.

“When did it start?” Geralt watched Jaskier perk up as someone finally believed me before scrunching his nose up in thought.

Geralt fought off a fond smile as he took in Jaskier’s features, scrunched up adorably, eyebrows furrowed, and created wrinkles on his forehead. He would never tire of seeing just how _animated_ the bard was when it came to everything he did, even thinking.

Suddenly Jaskier squirmed uncomfortably, face twisting into confusion before landing on irritation. “Stop that!” He sternly pointed his finger at Geralt, snapping him out of his thoughts.

“What.”

“ _Thinking_ ,” he snapped quickly. “I-I could _feel_ hands — _your_ hands — on the sides of my face,“

Geralt froze, realizing that was exactly what he was picturing in his head moments before. “Fuck,” the Witcher muttered in irritation, eyes following the bard’s waist as he paced around.

Jaskier’s breath hitched, making Geralt’s eyes snap up to meet his in worry. The bard bit his lip, looking like he was fighting something off internally. “I can _feel_ you stroking my hip, why—“

He groaned in frustration, closing his eyes tightly in means to not look at Jaskier; in hopes of not picturing anything about him. Geralt couldn’t stop his mind. The more he concentrated on not thinking about the bard, the more he did.

A shaking gasp filled the room, freezing Geralt in spot before quickly standing up to get out of the room. “I’m sor—“

“ _Don’t_.”

The Witcher paused, back facing Jaskier whose breath shuddered; Geralt refused to look, fighting the very nerves in his body begging to turn around. The smell of arousal wafted around the small room.

“What do you want to do to me?” The bard stepped towards the Witcher’s stiffened body while still keeping distance. The question held no trace of fear, barely any hesitation. 

This was Geralt’s decision.

He leaned close to his ear, the warmth of his breath arising goosebumps on Geralt’s skin as he whispered lustfully, “Think about it,”

Geralt stopped fighting picturing the bard’s body against his. Hands grazing gently along the rough skin, tanned from constant travel; lips brushing softly to every inch of the singer's skin; teeth playfully sinking into the fat rolls on his stomach.

Jaskier’s gasp turned into a hearty groan, hand reaching out to grasp Geralt’s shoulder as his knees went weak, needing something to stabilize him.

He could feel it. 

“I feel it,” he breathed through a shutter, “do you want this?” Jaskier had to ask. He prayed the answer was yes, that it wasn’t just the Witcher needing to fuck somebody, but for Geralt to want to fuck _him_ — _want him._

“Yes.” Geralt hissed through clenched teeth, his dick throbbing to the point of discomfort.

Smiling, Jaskier put both his arms around the Witcher’s waist, one hand spread out right above the waistband, and let his body press against his back. 

They both groaned when the bard rolled his hips sinfully against his ass, the friction just enough to tease.

“Don’t stop thinking about it,” 

“—Rather act on it,” Geralt emphasized by rubbing back against Jaskier’s clothed erection. 

“ _Fuck me,_ ” Jaskier whispered out, quiet enough that Geralt believed he wasn’t meant to hear it.

Then Jaskier’s skillful hand slid down past his waistband, under the fabric, fingers threading through the body hair before taking hold of Geralt’s dick.

The rough drag along his shaft made him squirm, whispering a gasp as Jaskier’s palm cupped the head before callous-tipped fingers pulled back the head’s foreskin, smearing pre-come on those troublesome fingers.

The Witcher growled, pulling the bard’s hand away as he turned to face him, the thin wrist encased within his large hand as he led Jaskier’s fingers into his mouth. Eyes never leaving the blue in front of him, he sucked off the precome on their fingers, swirling his tongue, smirking at the shuddering breath it caused.

“Fuck. _Come here._ ” Jaskier commanded hoarsely, letting Geralt release his fingers with a filthy sound before roughly grabbing the back of his neck, dragging their lips together. He groaned sinfully at sharing the taste of Geralt’s precome off his tongue, grinding his hips against him in pure instinct.

The sensations of both Geralt’s physical touch and thoughts of his desires built a growing flame beneath his skin, overwhelming in the best of ways. Tossing his head back the Witcher didn’t hesitate on trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses and nips down Jaskier’s delicate neck. 

Fumbling with ties they both managed to tear off the other’s clothing, Geralt’s mouth staying demanding throughout it all and only paused his exploration in deems to shed his bard’s top off.

_His bard._

The thought wasn’t anything new but it hit Geralt with a different heavy intoxicating meaning. This was clearly more than just a casual fuck — and he felt relieved.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed! Remember to subscribe to this fic to get updates for when I post the second chapter (the final). In the meantime, consider checking out my other geraskier fics:
> 
> ↠ What Could Have Been ↞ Rating: General Audience ∣ "Jaskier let a full minute pass in silence, unsure, before prompting Geralt gently with a soft, “‘Before?’ Before...you became a Witcher?” ... His body forced him to finally blink, pleading for moisture, a break from the strain causing the burn behind his eyes. “You...you’re who I could have become," ∣
> 
> ↠ Edge of Something New ↞ Rating: Mature ∣ "Geralt has never enjoyed sex. His heightened senses making touch too much at times, sending him into anger or panic, though he never understood why. That is until Jaskier pushed him against their room's door, grinding against him, accidentally causing him sensory overload, which leads to Jaskier introducing the Witcher to asexuality and the concept of no-touch-tops." ∣
> 
> ↠ Cat and the Wolf ↞ Rating: General Audience ∣ "Geralt finds Jaskier with a cat plopped down onto his lap, purring affectionately. The Witcher had never pet a cat in his long-lived life and the bard is determined to change that."
> 
> ↠ Coping Mechanism ↞ Rating: General Audience ∣ "Geralt smells Jaskier's tears and anxiety after his fight and rushes to his side, unknowing of what he may stumble to find."
> 
> ↠ Eyes like Polaris (Eyes like a Kitten) ↞ Rating: General Audience ∣ Jaskier tells Geralt the mythological stories behind the star constellations.


End file.
